


Uncontrollable and Instantaneous

by insanity_and_co



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, One-Shots, minis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanity_and_co/pseuds/insanity_and_co
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The relationship between Abigail Hobbs and Hannibal Lecter has always been a curious thing. Innocent, complex, and dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are all drabbles and one-shots as I try to dissect the complex relationship between Hannibal Lecter and Abigail Hobbs, as well as all the relationships Abigail holds dear.

Hannibal stood with his hand on the door to his office, ready to close it but sensing something was off. His sharp eyes scanned the room, and Abigail's feet made the smallest noise as she stepped forward, smiling sheepishly when he relaxed and closed the door.

"I had one of those dreams again. I woke up screaming, though. I don't think I've done that since I was little. Like, _really_ little."

Abigail stood frozen under his gaze for several moments on the upper portion of Hannibal's large office, listening to her quickening heartbeat thudding so loud in her ears she was sure he heard it. She could never feel this uncomfortable with anyone else. Dr. Bloom wore her expressions on her sleeve, the shock clear in the widening of her eyes and the way her mouth hung open for a moment too long. Will was unable to control the urges to visibly flinch away when he was bothered. And her father...he had been more than comfortable smiling and encouraging Abigail with any question or comment she had. It bothered her a bit, looking back on how open he had become with her in the last few years before he killed himself. He had never been so open with anyone else, even her own mother, and it felt like some wonderful privilege she had been denied up to that point. At times his expressions were intense. But never uncomfortable. She never felt like she was in any danger with her father.

But Hannibal was a different creature; he was entirely unreadable. He could be feeling the worst sort of hatred for her or the most beautiful love - she would never be able to know unless he wanted her - her specifically - to know of these emotions.

Despite the discomfort, she held his gaze and waited for any tick in his expression to give him away. There was hardly any acknowledgement directed towards her and if he wasn't looking directly at her - studying her - she would have easily been fooled into thinking he hadn't even heard her in the first place.

Abigail lifted her hand to hold her other arm, having grown out of the urge to hug both arms to her stomach, and shifted her weight. She didn't tear her eyes away from him, though. She refused to let him think she was unnerved by him at all...even if she was...just a little bit.

In an instant, the corner of his eyes creased and the edge of his mouth lifted into a tight smile. The nervousness that had her stomach in knots disappeared and she let go over her arm, feeling more relieved than she should have by a simple smile.

"It's difficult for people to control their actions while they sleep." His words were clipped but his steps to a bookshelf behind his desk were fluid.

"But it is possible?" Abigail came to the edge of the railing and rested her forearms on it, pulling her sleeves over her hands and inspecting the fraying fabric of her sweater carefully.

"With practice. It isn't easy, by any means." He turned to give Abigail a pointed look. "It is not something that you can merely... _will_ to happen." Hannibal turned back to the bookshelf and ran a finger over the spines, going from row to row randomly until he finally found the book he was after. He pulled it out and flipped it open, moving back to his desk to lean against it. "It takes a disciplined mind to master this technique."

"Have you mastered it?"

"I am not the patient here," he said sternly, but the quip was warm - he did not wish to shut Abigail down. "I have never had a use for it. I don't get nightmares."

"That must be nice." Abigail sounded envious and the tight smile appeared on his face briefly.

"That is not to mean that my dreams are pleasant all the time. I rarely dream at all. I often wonder if that is a good thing, or a bad thing." Abigail glanced up from her sweater to see that Hannibal was staring at her. He flipped a few pages in his book and placed a piece of paper in that spot, closing it and holding it out to Abigail.

She moved to the ladder and stepped down, coming closer and grabbing the book from his loose grip.

"This chapter will give you an idea of the technique."

"It isn't something you can teach me here?" Abigail wanted to mentally smack herself; she hadn't mean to sound so hopeful.

"Some things need to be studied a bit before we discuss them. Read that chapter - yes the _whole_ chapter-" he added when he saw the look on Abigail's face at the thought of _homework_ , "-and then we can talk about how you can use it to help control the physical reactions you have to these nightmares. I'm afraid I also don't have the time to go over the whole topic during this impromptu session."

"You have another patient coming?"

"I do."

"It's nearly midnight." Abigail smirked, feeling victorious that she had argued him into a corner.

"I believe Will has a similar problem to your own. I'm expecting a visit from him shortly." Abigail stares at Hannibal incredulously for a moment. It was a lame excuse to get her out of his office, but it was getting late. She felt a little guilty at holding him up when he probably wanted to go home and sleep. Despite the late hour, she felt awake - she never wanted to go to sleep again, in part for fear of having another gut-wrenching nightmare.

"Well, have a good night." She looked down at the thin book in her hands and folded the corner of the paper sticking out at the top. She moved to the door but stopped with her hand on the knob when Hannibal spoke.

"Make sure you get some rest." He smirked when her head snapped up, her neck cracking and her expression of shock - unhidden - was displayed for a split second through the pain in her neck. "Page 157 suggests it."

Abigail smiled and nodded, raising the book weakly in place of a wave. She shut the door behind her and panic flew through her when she heard rapid footsteps down the hallway. She gripped the book to her chest and dodged behind a large plant, her foot kicking the leg of the bench.

Whoever was racing to Hannibal's office paused and Abigail held her breath, only daring to peak between the leaves of the thick plant when she heard the doorknob turn. She was barely able to make out the curly hair of Will Graham before the door slammed shut behind him, echoing through the hallway and leaving Abigail frozen behind the plant, book held tightly against her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Murder isn't something that binds people together. The act is just that...an act; it does not demand or require bonds to other people. Even others of their kind.

There can certainly be those that know of each other, are familiar with their acquaintance's style and preferences...but to have two bonding over a shared meal as friends was a unique thing. The act of murder did not bring people together, make them friends if they were capable of such things, or make them understand each other.

But the actions of Garrett Jacob Hobbs brought them together. This made it all the more intriguing for Hannibal as he sat at the dinner table, having filled the glasses of everyone around the table; always the perfect host.

It was only through her father's actions that Abigail sat at his dinner table, not her own doing, knife skipping over the beautifully prepared steak and aiming for the roasted potatoes on the side. Her hand came up and touched the scarf around her neck briefly, she glanced around the table over the rim of her glass, all of her actions watched closely and unbeknownst to her. She gulped, her eyes flickered, she moved her feet under the table.

There were others there as well, all gathered to specifically not discuss work. Alana had insisted that the topic not dwell on the gloomy and dreary and everyone else had wholeheartedly agreed to a night of happy matters...which meant that business was entirely out of the question.

The professor herself was sitting down the table, talking about a new movie that Jack had no interest in seeing, to her amazement. Hannibal listened, he even participated in the discussion of which actors would flounder and fail in their new roles, but his attention was elsewhere. Abigail had laughed, a high and nervous noise that grated his ears, but no one else took notice of the off tone. Her laugh - the real one - was far deeper and wilder. The potatoes had disappeared from Abigail's plate and she now picked at the garnishes on the side. They were meant for decoration only but Hannibal wouldn't correct her.

The rest of his dinner guests had all dove into the food - some more politely and elegantly than others - with gusto and praise to the cook. But the others weren't what mattered.

He watched, waited, and only half-listened to the discussions around him.

And finally, when the talk of the table had turned from movies to hiking in the nearby mountains, Abigail cut the meat. Her eyes flickered between Hannibal and the chunk on her fork for just a moment; such a brief moment that the nervous twitch went unnoticed by the keen-eyed FBI agents around them. But having watched and waited patiently since setting that plate in front of the girl, that bit of hesitation was read as easily as a book by Hannibal.

She knew what it was. She had her suspicions, theories... He did not know quite how deeply and accurately that wariness of him ran, but he would have expected no less from the instincts of someone like him. One of his own kind.

She knew.

And she ate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice little shout-out to Queen of the Beasties (on ff.net) for checking over my chapters for me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There is strong shadow where there is much light." ~ Johann Wolfang von Goethe.

There had been so much improvement in just the past month alone. She was laughing, she joked, she poked fun at Alana for a misspoken phrase. Abigail Hobbs was recovering wonderfully, by the prideful tone in Will Graham's voice. A meeting between friends had morphed into a session, each sitting in their respective chairs and Hannibal watching Will with hawk-like perception.

"She's like a miracle, and she isn't even mine." The man himself sat across from Hannibal, legs loosely crossed and lounging back with his fingers laced behind his head; a stark contrast to Hannibal's own composure. A small smile pulled at the corner of Will's mouth; tight and small but not forced...which was a vast improvement in and of itself.

"I went with Alana to the psychiatric hospital yesterday. Abigail wanted to leave and get some fresh air, so we signed her out and got burgers and fries." Will stopped short and after a pause was gently prompted by Hannibal to voice the concern that darkened Will's face. "It's odd." A half-laugh escaped him in a sharp bark, insane to the ears of those not trained to look for irritated ticks.

"What do you find odd?"

His words were chosen carefully, spoken slowly, and his shoulders drew together...all unconscious and uncontrollable to Will but watched with a hint of amusement. "We have to check a human being out, like a book out of the library. And it has to be returned at a certain time."

"It is for everyone's safety that the doctors know where Abigail is at all times while she is still considered to be a patient. But it is an insightful comparison," Hannibal added.

"She seemed happy to have food that wasn't from the cafeteria, but the shakes were horrible." Hannibal allowed a short laugh, putting Will in a small amount of ease, giving their session a hint of friendliness. Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers in front of him. "There's a light there."

"A new light?"

"I don't know if it's new, or if it had just dimmed after Garret- After everything she's been through. Can a light can be extinguished completely and come back?" Will's head tipped up, just enough to look at the man across from him with uneasy eyes. His hands clenched together and relaxed. "She was close to flickering out for a long time."

"And thanks to the people around her, she's returning to us." Hannibal smiled, a tight-lipped grin returned by Will across the space between them. "A bright light to cast away the shadows behind her."

Hannibal couldn't help but think that with such bright light, there comes an unyielding shadow of darkness. It was behind her - behind the light - but bubbling just under the surface. It was hidden from the sights of Will and Alana and all of the doctors that Abigail spoke with and those that studied her.

But that shadow did not go unnoticed by all.

And it would not be suppressed by the light for long.


	4. Chapter 4

Maybe it was so easy because he didn't study her face.

Will Graham took quick peaks at Abigail's face, gauging her expression and then turning away again...his jerky motions even faster when she caught him. It was easier for her to act just a little bit more like herself when she wasn't under a microscope. Her every move, every word, even every tick of her face was not on display with Will like it was with Hannibal or Jack or Alana...all for different reasons.

Jack had every reason to be wary of her; Abigail understood that all too well.

Alana was on guard constantly, ready to pull her back to the safety behind the hospital walls if she looked one bit stressed.

And Hannibal... Hannibal had just as much reason to be wary as Jack did, but in quite the opposite direction. Jack wanted her to be caught, and Hannibal couldn't let it happen or he would be discovered just as quickly. He had made that very clear to her.

Abigail understood her relationship to those three extremely well after two weeks of sitting in a hospital bed, wandering the grounds (definitely not sneaking over the wall in a corner the cameras were blind to), and thinking things over in her head. The past weeks, the past years, far before her father had ever been caught. All of that thinking made her situation crystal clear, and the severity of everything calmed and terrified her. It almost (just almost) made her want to stop talking for good. Stop talking, stop listening, stop _being_ when she had to hide something so much that she was forced to let herself go just to keep her guard up. No matter who it was around, there had to be that wall to keep her (and them) safe.

Will was just Will, pacing the room while she sat on her bed with a curiously wrapped present in her hands. He wasn't her psychologist, wasn't trying to pin murders on her head, and wasn't focusing so much on keeping her secrets. He was just an awfully twitchy man.

An awfully twitchy man who had just given her the worst possible present: a box filled with supplies to create fishing lures.

The idea that the thought crossed his mind shocked her, but the fact that he had actually gone through with it and wrapped it up like a Christmas present - complete with cartoon Santas across the paper - was terrifying at first. Then, when Abigail looked up and saw the tight smile, head tilted down and eyes fixed on her feet - thankfully not her face - she swallowed her initial reaction.

"I've never been a fisher. I was a hunter." Her statement was plain and she held the box in her hands, sure that if she set it down immediately he would assume it was in disgust and she was not really disgusted...just very very surprised.

"I thought it would be good to pick up new hobbies."

"Now that I've lost one?" The words were out with a quirk of her eyebrow and she didn't realize how accusing her words were until Will's head turned sharply to the window. He had read her loud and clear: _You think hunting girls was my hobby._ He moved his entire body away from her.

She waited until Will glanced over, which took longer than she had expected, and gave him the most convincing smile she could muster.

"I was trying to joke, but I don't think it came out very well." Will offered a forced smile in reply and just a small nod, leaving Abigail unsure of whether he believed her or not. "Thank you. What kind of feathers are these?"

Abigail opened the box and pulled out a small, pretty blue one, black at the tip and feathers soft and wispy at the base.

"Indigo Bunting. There's also a Purula and I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"It was a horrible idea, I shouldn't have even thought about teaching you to fish." He took a step back and quickly took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes as tight as he could. Abigail smiled, not needing any form of training to read some of his nervous habits.

"I'm glad you did," Abigail said, managing a much more convincing smile this time and Will put his glasses back on, eyebrows drawn together and silently prompting her. "Nobody treats me like a normal person. Everyone avoids certain topics like I'm going to go AWOL on them for using the H word. Hunting was a big part of my life even before my dad did what he did." Abigail rolled the base of the blue feather between her thumb and finger, the wispy plume tickling her knuckles. "I know that I can't ever go hunting without thinking about everything that happened. I don't know if I ever want to go hunting again, but fishing..." She paused and put the feather back into the box. "...I want to try it."

The box felt heavy in her hands when she finally lifted it to remove the Christmas wrapping paper completely, crumpling it up and setting it aside. Will sat heavily in the chair across from her bed, shoulders relaxing only a little bit and a wider smile on his face.

Even though the present was, at first, horrifying...he was trying. Not to keep secrets suppressed, keep her inside a hospital, or put her in prison. He was just trying to reach out in a way that he was (very clearly) not accustomed to.


End file.
